


reversing the wheel of fortune

by blackfirewolf



Series: tarot spreads [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Character Study, Empire Siblings - Freeform, Episode: c02e128 Cat and Mouse, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I think caleb deserves a breakdown after everything that's happened, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Missing Scene, Not Beta Read, POV Caleb Widogast, Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers up to 128
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29977761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackfirewolf/pseuds/blackfirewolf
Summary: "Caleb sits on the beach, toes flexing in the sand, with Veth’s comforting weight pressed to his side, and can not relax."-----------A missing scene from ep128, where the Mighty Nein regroup at the beach. Caleb is still processing everything that has happened.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Series: tarot spreads [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204958
Comments: 3
Kudos: 47





	reversing the wheel of fortune

**Author's Note:**

> yesss i managed to finish this before the next ep drop!! super proud of myself for that :3 (also trying to work on my dialogue and writing in different tenses, since those are my weak spots ;-;) 
> 
> anyway, the latest episodes have been insane and i think caleb deserves a little breakdown. as a treat. hope y'all enjoy <3

The beach is quiet. 

Or, as quiet as a beach can be, of course, with the crashing of waves and the screech of gulls overhead. But they are alone, and that is what makes it quiet, calm. Or as quiet and calm as it can be, when they were waiting for the other boot to drop, for someone to appear out of thin air and lift a hand to them, for a fight put on pause to violently, and without warning, resume. 

Which is to say: Caleb sits on the beach, toes flexing in the sand, with Veth’s comforting weight pressed to his side, and can not relax. It isn’t just the buzzing of white-noise that fills his ears, or the scorched feeling of his fingertips, but years and years of muscle memory warped into a hypervigilance that had slowly, ever so slowly, began to seem unnecessary when he was surrounded by those he trusts and loves. He’s learned and unlearned many, many things since joining this group. 

Seeing Trent smiling down at him, hearing the smooth tenure of his voice in his ears—it is like Caleb never made any progress in the first place. 

A little ways off—not too far that it would be dangerous if they were ambushed—Fjord is lounging with Jester’s soft hands weaving his hair into an elaborate braid. His beard has grown out just like his hair, and while it is neatly groomed, it makes him look more like the sailor he is than when they first met. Jester is smiling, but her tail is tapping an anxious rhythm. 

Yasha stands by the water. Her back is to them, but she won’t leave like she used to, and it is a comfort he doesn’t know how to put into words. Caduceus watches her with mild interest, ears ticked back just enough that Caleb knows he isn’t fully relaxed like he often is. 

Beau is pacing. 

“It’s alright, Cay,” Veth says softly, and he startles at the gentle pat of her hand. He is still not fully used to her lack of claws, but it feels right. Like her. He hadn’t realized it, but he’s shaking.

(There is blood on his hands yet again, except this time he was merciless, crumpling the guards that got in the way like they were wet bags of blood and sinew and gut. He’d killed in that same place, but he had been sloppy, then; weak from years of being locked away, desperate and panicked to escape. He remembers vomiting into the grass, once he had put several miles between himself and the asylum. 

It hadn’t been the first person he had killed, but he’d been out of practice, at that point.) 

Jester has left Fjord with half his hair braided, and is talking to Yasha on the shoreline. Fjord is scanning the waves, fingers drumming on his thigh. Caduceus now has his eyes closed, although he clearly isn’t asleep. Beau stops pacing, and belatedly, it registers that she is heading in their direction. 

“He alrigh’?” she asks Veth in a low tone. He wants to frown at that. He wants to say that he is sitting right in front of her, and can hear what she is saying, and he does not appreciate the patronization. 

Caleb’s tongue refuses to cooperate, and he doesn’t bother to fight it. Not when his ears are ringing and the scars along his arms prickle uncomfortably and the sea breeze tastes like tears. 

“I don’t think he’s fully with us,” Veth says, and her voice is nervous and sad. “You know, like with the…” She mimes what he is fairly sure is supposed to be an explosion. “Not like, _fully_ , but…” 

“Probably shock,” Beau interrupts, “or, ya know, trauma or whatever.” Veth makes a vaguely distressed noise at that, and this time, Caleb _does_ frown, twisting his toes deeper into the sand. It’s pleasant—a combination of warm, dry sand, mixed with a deeper layer that is cool and damp. At some point, he must have removed his boots, although he doesn’t remember that.

“Isn’t there something we can—” 

“I mean, unless we wanna go back in time and kill that fuckin’ asshole, we probably jus’ gotta wait it out, man.” 

“I _hate_ this,” Veth says, with enough venom that Caleb reflexibly flinches back. She seems to notice, and pats his hand, shooting him an apologetic smile that he can just barely see out of the corners of his vision. He’s mostly staring at his knees, head bent forward awkwardly so that his hair hangs just a little in his face. It feels safe.

Following the thread of their conversation is odd, like the ebb and flow of the tide, but he knows they exchange a few more words before Beau says, “Give us a minute, Veth. Let me try to talk to him.” 

He expects Veth to argue. She’s like that, just in general, but she’s particularly protective in times like this, when words seem to vacate Caleb’s mouth and any movement feels like a challenge—even if it’s been some time since he’s been this bad. Beau is equally as stubborn, though, and she cares just as much, even if her version of affection is usually a little more gruff than Veth’s. So, after a moment, Veth stands. 

“Be right back, Caleb!” she says cheerfully, like it’s still just them, camping out in some backwash tavern, and she’s just going up to the bar to get another drink while he’s busy copying down spells in some shadowy booth. She brushes a hand over his hair, and he blinks, wondering when she last did so. She couldn’t weave flowers into his hair for good luck while they were out in the frozen wastes, and they certainly haven’t had the time in between. He misses it. 

He could probably use the luck, too. 

“You alright, man?” Beau asks, and he missed it, but she’s now kneeling next to him, sitting back on her heels like she always does. Caleb doesn’t understand how she can hold such a position so comfortably, or why she does so. Even when they have chairs, she likes to perch. 

She snaps her fingers twice, and oh, right. She asked him a question. Slowly, he nods, like his head is attached to weights while the rest of his body is caught in an anti-gravity spell. 

She blows out a heavy sigh, and he gets the sense that he’s disappointed her, in some way. “Right, right. Figures that’s the case with you, hah?” 

Caleb _does_ manage to shoot her a slightly peevish look at that comment, and she grins at him, her teeth shiny and intact—which considering how many fights she gets into, he wonders how that’s possible. Probably something to do with her “dope monk shit.” 

(He appreciates her teasing. It makes things seem normal, like everything is ok, and they haven’t had the most fucking insane week possible. Was their fight with the Tombtakers really only a couple days ago? It feels like it happened ages ago, buried beneath the whole new pile of shit they’ve unleashed on themselves.) 

He inclines his head slightly to her, and something in her expression goes soft. Not something terribly noticeable, but she’s learned and unlearned a lot too, since joining their group. Caleb would say it’s easy to forget how much they’ve all changed, but that would be a lie—he sees it all the time, and it never ceases to take his breath away that some ragtag group of assholes that met at a bar and fought a giant toad devil together would become heroes and traitors in equal measure. 

“Meant to tell you earlier, but thanks again for the tower.” 

His tongue loosens, his shoulders relaxing fractionally, and he rasps out, “There is… no thanks needed, Beauregard.” His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I am… glad you enjoyed yourselves.” 

“Yeah, the dogs were pretty fuckin’ cute.” 

It’s obviously a jab, a prod to get him to keep talking, even if it’s something as insignificant as his disdain for changing his cats into dachshunds. He does not rise to the bait, cannot conjure the energy to, and instead just grimaces. 

“Seriously though,” Beau says, “thanks. Made us, uh, real happy, ya know?” 

“Good,” he whispers, and just the single word exhausts him with how much he means it. Beau’s and Yasha’s feelings for each other have always been fairly obvious, but the fact they’re acting on them is… miraculous, in a way. It is new, and perhaps fragile, but it is filled with so much love.

It’s certainly a change, but a good one, he thinks. Like Veth getting her body and family back, or Fjord finally dropping his fake accent, or seeing Caduceus mess around with his siblings, or Jester making amends with Artagan, or Yasha letting her wings lift her into the air. Beau and her—they deserve this change, and the happiness that comes with it. 

(Caleb does not think about all the other changes. A stranger wearing the skin of a friend. The watchful brand on his shoulder. The murmur of his mother tongue from a woman he once loved and thought to never see again. 

What’s worse, though, is the way things have not changed. The effortless way he kills, the sloppiness of his panic, the way Trent Ikithon still forces these things from him.) 

A lump rises in his throat, and he wants to grab Beau and apologize like he apologized to Jester and Veth. He wants to feel the physical evidence of her sitting in the sand next to him, to feel her heartbeat as evidence that he didn’t abandon her. He wants to beg for her mercy, for painting such a prominent target on her back, for endangering their new family. He doesn’t know _what_ he wants, really. 

“Hey, hey, Caleb. Man, you gotta breathe,” Beau says. Her hand touches his shoulder, and he tenses, biting his lip against the mumbled apologies falling from them. He darts a glimpse at her, and while her face is pinched, it isn’t surprised—which probably means that Jester and Veth told the others about his freakout earlier, when he wasn’t paying attention. It makes him want to wince, to feel embarrassed that all his friends were anticipating a breakdown, but Beau is rubbing soothing circles into his palms, and he can only feel grateful for her presence. 

“Yeah, hey. It’s good, man. Nuthin’ to be sorry for, promise.” After a moment, when Caleb’s breathing is a bit more steady, she says, “So, that sucked, hah?” 

Caleb lets out a hoarse bark of laughter. “ _Ja_ ,” he agrees, “that was not… ideal.” 

“Veth mentioned that Ikithon messaged you.” 

“ _Ja_ ,” Caleb repeats, quieter. 

When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to say more about it, Beau lets out a huff. “He’s a fuckin’ bastard, man. Forget whatever it was he said.” Her hands move to his wrists, forcing the muscles to relax, and the phantom feel of burned skin starts to recede from his fingertips. “You know we’ll protect you, right?” she asks quietly. 

(Caleb knows this. He trusts the Mighty Nein, and loves them in a way he didn’t think he’d ever experience—or deserve—again. No, it isn’t himself he’s worried about—it’s _them_.) 

Beau tugs lightly on one of his fingers, pulling him from his thoughts. “I’m serious,” she says, “we won’t let him get to you again. He’ll have to go through us, first.” 

“That,” he says, “is what I’m worried about.” 

They sit in silence. He can sense Beau’s frustration, even if her touch is still gentle, and he allows her to chew on her words without further comment. “Look,” she finally says, “I get it, alright? You don’t wanna drag us into your shit, I can sympathize with that—but it’s kinda too late now. We’re all stuck with each other, and it’s not like you wouldn’t do the same for any of us.” 

"Beauregard—"

“Shut up. Seriously, Caleb, our life is just shitstorm after shitstorm, but we’ve made it through alright so far. And like, I won’t lie and say I’m not worried as hell, too, but we’re not just gonna bail. We’re, you know, family.” 

Caleb looks up, and Beau is scowling out at the horizon, not meeting his gaze but sincere and stubborn just like she always is. He looks down, to where her hand is now just resting in his, and stares at the red eye tattooed there. 

He’s relieved he’s not the only one that was marked. It makes his gut twist with guilt to think that, but he can’t imagine facing such a nightmare alone—and he’s glad, that out of everyone, it was her. Not just because they’re both Empire kids, but because they’re more similar than either of them wants to admit, and there is a comradery there that Caleb cherishes. 

“I do trust you,” he says, because it is the truth, and also because it makes her shoulders untense. “You do not need to worry about me.” 

Beau finally looks back over, so he can see her roll her eyes. “Sure,” she says, “but seriously, you feeling better now? Not that you don’t deserve a good freakout after all that, but in that case, I’ll probably call Veth back over.” 

Caleb lets out a chuckle, and squeezes her hand lightly. Her gaze darts to the pressure, as if she’d forgotten that her hand was still there, but she doesn’t move it. “Thank you, Beauregard.” 

She shrugs one shoulder, bumping it against his arm in a move that she probably doesn’t realize is a bit too rough. “S’not a problem, dude.” 

(He does not comment at the self-loathing scratching like a feral animal in the back of his mind, the part of him that, later on, will whisper that he should give himself up to save his friends. He does not comment on the looming feeling of dread, which will soon manifest into justifiable terror as they race through the streets of Nicodranas, families in tow, in a scenario Caleb has feared from the beginning. He does not comment on how it feels to be hunted, to have his torturer’s voice purr through his mind, to know that he is partly, if not fully, to blame for all that will transpire.) 

For now, he sits with Beau, and they watch the ocean, and laugh together when Veth flings a crab onto Fjord, who shrieks loud enough that Caduceus almost drops his tea, and Caleb thinks of nothing but the warmth of her hand in his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Reversed Wheel of Fortune: bad luck, misfortune, resistance to change. 
> 
> (By clinging to the illusion of control, we only bring blame and guilt onto ourselves. Most times, things are out of our control. We need to accept this, to forgive ourselves, and trust that our fate is not definite. The wheel will turn eventually.) 
> 
> as always, hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://blackfirewolf.tumblr.com/)


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